


My Sweetheart's Piano

by countallurteeth



Category: Hannibal - Fandom, My Chemical Romance
Genre: Autism, Autistic Character written by an autistic person, Cannibalism, Canon Autistic Character, Crime, Frerard, Gay, Hannibal - Freeform, Hannibal Lecter - Freeform, Hannigram - Freeform, M/M, Mental Illness, Murder, Other, TV AU, Will Graham - Freeform, frank iero - Freeform, gerard way - Freeform, hannigram but not quite, here's a funny tag: penis, i heard people like funny tags, mlm, sexy cannibal and his goth shawty, written by a real mlm dude
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-18
Updated: 2020-12-01
Packaged: 2021-03-10 05:53:25
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,947
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27618644
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/countallurteeth/pseuds/countallurteeth
Summary: Gerard Way has a quiet life teaching painting at a nearby art school in Virginia. No more policework, no more action...Until he is thrust back into the limelight with a string of murders that only he can see connections with. A nice cocktail of neurodivergency, empathy disorders, mental illness and a fascination in understanding just what makes a serial killer tick, Gerard is the perfect man to pick apart a crime scene. That is, unless the scene picks him apart first.This is a Hannibal!Mcr au! I will be following the show here and there but might make shit up. Who knows? The day's still young
Relationships: Frank Iero/Gerard Way
Comments: 7
Kudos: 19





	1. 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is just a draft aaa I'll go back and fix shit later when I feel like it

Gerard stood at the scene of the crime, eyes closed, hands pressed to his sides in little planks of something like concentration. It was a display of concentration, a display of restraint not normally known to Gerard. He was seldom seen this still, not a bounce to his hands or the rhythmic pop of his fingers. Not even the slight fluttering of his eyelashes as he muttered the prayers he’d memorized but never quite sworn to. In fact, the only time he was ever this still was when he flipped ‘the switch’, mostly for matters of business or situations where being so obviously Gerard was not permitted. His students were pretty relaxed with that sort of thing. Art school wasn’t a place for ableism. However, here, this was a different control panel. No fidgeting, no ticcing. Well- Yes, there was ticcing. Gerard involuntarily twitched his head to the side, face scrunching up only for a moment before returning to normal. He didn’t really notice it had happened, but apparently everyone else had, because it made the entire crew fall silent. 

He’d been dragged here, all the way from his Virginia College Studio Art class to analyze this crime scene at nine in the morning on a Thursday. Gerard hated Thursdays. Not for this specific reason, but this made it much worse. 

“Just take your time, Way...” His employer, and the current head of the FBI, Ray Toro said. Gerard jumped a foot. His eyes shot open, and Ray cringed a bit, clearing his throat. “Sorry. Continue.”

Gerard drew a paintbrush from his pocket, eyes firmly seeing, house on his canvas like a living, breathing funeral. He was painting a murder scene.

  
  
  


I pull my gun from my pocket and approach the Robinson house.

I kick the door in, and fire one shot immediately. 

The alarm goes off, and I move over to shut it down, as to not alert law enforcement I am present. 

Mrs. Robinson rushes over from the kitchen with a pan, attempting to stop me. 

With surgical precision, I fire two shots into Mrs. Robinson, one through the neck, and one through the spine. She falls to the floor as blood sprays from her body onto the wall. She leans against it for support, dragging a line of blood down the wall. She will never move again, and yet, feel the pain of one thousand deaths. 

Without flinching, I turn and fire another shot with deadly accuracy, this time into Mr. Robinson’s head, who was descending the stairs. He dies immediately. Mrs. Robinson is not dead yet, but she will die watching her husband’s corpse be defiled by me. 

I shut off the alarm using the passcode. The alarm stops, and the only sound left in the house is the whimpering noises Mrs. Robinson makes. 

I leave the house victorious, not before stomping in Mr. Robinson’s head with my boot, and closing the door gently behind me. 

This is my design. 

  
  
  


“Got it.” Gerard says, and opens his eyes. Everyone stares, waits. Apprehensive, the crowd hums like flies on, well, a corpse. 

“And?” Ray asks, close, but not too close. He is the only one who really talks to Gerard. Everyone else is too busy, or doesn’t quite understand the ‘deal’ here. Nobody else here is the same as Gerard, and that’s okay. He’s used to being the minority in social situations. 

“They tapped their phones.”

“How do you know?”   
  


“You said the alarm only went off for less than a minute? How would they be able to shut the alarm off? I’m willing to bet that they recorded Mrs. Robinson saying the passcode and played it back to the security company somehow- They might not have, since they got out of here so quick. It’s very possible they did, though...Who found the scene again?”

“The neighbour, who was supposed to come over for dinner.” Ray answered, and leaned against the hood of his car. Gerard was just standing there, still frozen. He opened his eyes, though, and the normal control panel was back. He was fidgeting again, hands pulled to his chest and wringing. His joints cracked as he did so, and he made a small face, looking at Ray’s elbow. 

“This could’ve been a show for them- A dinner surprise. Or maybe something like an offering. This may not have been intended for the neighbours at all. This could just be a show all for themself. Who knows?”

Gerard closed his eyes, and left the other set open. Ray didn’t seem to notice. 

,

“See, with finding your own sense of style, it’s important to factor in what you’re actually drawing. Or capturing, I should say. If you’re drawing somebody...crying, weeping, a cartoon-like style with flowers and stars and bubbles may not suit it well. Or maybe it will- These are all things you need to decide when crafting.”

Students nodded and murmured, murmured and nodded. They sometimes listened to what he said, but when they didn’t, he enjoyed it the best. There was a beauty to the way some people diverged from the path, the way they chose to ignore what was supposed to be happening. It was something Gerard had never been able to do. A student had once turned in a beautiful, massive painting of a banana. It was impressive, but the nude model they’d hired was a bit offended at first. The purpose of art is freedom, though, and Gerard both respected and feared that. 

Gerard vastly preferred to follow books. They were sure, certain. Easy to perform the best along because they were so set. 

“Gerard?” He looked up and spotted Ray, who lingered by the door. 

“Oh! Yes, sorry.” Gerard must’ve spaced out. Looking around to the antsy class, he waved his hands towards the door as a dismissal of sorts. Ray came in, and the class went out in one swoop, all talking until Gerard shushed them. At least they took that cue. The last student closed the door behind them, and Gerard took off his glasses, looking up at Ray with his hands folded on his desk. “How can I help you?”

“You really have a way with those students, huh?”

“Shocking, I know.” Gerard rolled his eyes, and Ray just shook his head, laughing just a tiny bit. 

“Don’t downplay yourself. It’s incredible, considering you refused to join my actual team. It wouldn’t be much different, I promise.” Ray leaned against Gerard’s desk, and Gerard grimaced. Ray didn’t seem to notice. 

“This isn’t communicating, isn’t working with them. I’m just talking at them.”

“Is that why you hitched your horse to a teaching post?”

“My horse is hitched at the autistic post. That’s why I didn’t join your team, Ray.” Gerard gave the standing man an exasperated smile, and there was an awkward beat between them. 

“Right. Sorry.” 

“It’s fine, don’t worry about it. Painting is my favourite thing, anyway. And, you know...Joining your team as a ‘special agent’ really sounds like throwing salt on the wound.” 

Ray snorted, letting out a hearty laugh, and Gerard gave his awkward little half-smile. Close enough. 

“Yeah, you’re right. I’m sorry for intruding.”

“Well, you’re here now, so what can I do for you?”

“I need your help on a case. As an ‘outside council”, I promise.”

“Oh?” Gerard stood up, hands held at his chest again, but eyes attentive at the curls by Ray’s cheeks. 

“Teenage girl missing, along with...others. They all look the same. Same hair colour and rough length, all white, all similar heights and builds… It’s suspicious to say the least.”

“Yeah, I’d say that’s incredibly suspicious. Any other info?”

“Not much- Just the most recent victim’s parents. We have some people over there interviewing them right now. Are you up for coming along?”

“As long as your...other agents don't try and dig any hooks in me, sure. I’m not exactly up for discussing my entire inner workings with another hundred kids.” And that was so often what he had to do, explain everything about him. No, it’s not unprofessional for him to refuse eye contact or to constantly be clicking a pen. Yes, he is autistic. No, he is not a sociopath, and no, he does not have antisocial personality disorder. He does not have any disorders, actually. Just normal Gerard Way. Normal as normal can be. Sorta. He didn’t want to have to worry about that, though. He just wanted to blink his eyes and get back to painting the world he saw so clearly inside. 


	2. 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is sort of a filler chapter? Writing is hard, obsessing about Hannibal!Frank is easy.... Hm....

Nothing quite prepares you for the sound lungs make when kneaded, the texture of the meaty walls, the alveoli popping and giving out as you press into them. It was a downright work of art, cooking the lungs. Cooking the liver. Cooking the heart. 

Frank was making dinner for tonight, apron on over his loose shirt he wore so unprofessionally professional. He was in the habit of unorthodox attire, mostly wearing these sorts of things around. He was very unorthodox indeed for a therapist, in many, many ways. But anyways, 

Tattooed fingers wrang the lungs, not too harshly, but enough to tenderize it. He wanted this to be tender to perfection, and marinating it would obviously help it along. Still, giving it a good mash of the hands helped immensely. It gave a small squelch under his grasp, and he knew it was soft enough to cook now. Sizzling, gasping for air, this pig was quite the feast indeed. Pork was immensely popular among his guests, hence the lungs below his weathered joints. Plenty of guitar playing and drawing and cooking had worn down his hands, and before that, surgery work. He was the head resident surgeon for many years, which came with plenty of know-how and quite a steady hand indeed. 

He often cooked for himself these days, no longer throwing parties, no long nights of pretending meat was murder. He had learned to be so modest over many years, half as a mask, half because he wasn’t one for dwelling on praise. Frank was a psychiatrist these days, and that was what he preferred to dwell on. Talk of the mind and how it worked. It had yet to bore him, nor did he doubt it ever would. 

Classical music played in the background, and Frank danced on the balls of his feet, twirling around only to drop the pair of lungs into a bowl of sauce he’d prepared much earlier. That was mostly what you needed to know about Frank. He spun around with lungs in his hands, flour up to his elbows, blood coating his hands. This was Frank, jet black hair, and pupils so dark, you could see the galaxies burning inside of them. This was a man that knew God. This man Was god. In his own specific way, that is. 

  
  
  
  
  
  


“You said Elise has been missing for...how long?” Ray asked, sitting across from the poor girl’s parents. 

“A week. She was supposed to come home from school, and she just...never came.” The mother explained. Gerard was wandering around their kitchen, eyes fixed...everywhere but the other three’s. A cat rubbed against his leg, and he instantly picked the thing up, holding it close. The feline was calm, but purred like a monster. It made Gerard free a hand to flap in excitement, and the other three stared. He could tell. He put the cat down. 

  
  


Gerard cleared his throat. “Can I see her room?”

“Sure, sure…” Elise’s father looked ‘thrown-off’. Unfortunately, not everyone expected autistic people to be working with the fbi, let alone had ever seen one. Gerard despised leaving his classroom more and more every day. 

  
  


“Did she have any friends that might’ve been what you’d see as bad influence? Any runaway attempts? Any mental health issues?” Gerard questioned as they moved up the stairs. 

“No, no. She was a normal girl,” Elise’s father said as he put his hand on the door. 

“Is,” Gerard corrected as they opened the door

“Was,” Elise’s father corrected.

“Is. She’s laying right there.”

“ _ What?”  _

Gerard flipped on the lights, and there was Elise. Gored and bleeding through her bed, unmoving, unblinking. She was dead, of course, so Gerard had been wrong to a certain degree...And yet, she’d been returned. She’d been given the final courtesy of being put back, despite having just about everything taken away from her. 

Elise’s father gave out a horrid groan, and Gerard hushed him, gently pushing him outside. 

  
  


“I need you to go to talk to Ray. I’ll examine everything. Just...try not to cry too loudly.”

  
  
  
  
  


Lab workers swept the scene, and Gerard just stood at the foot of the bed, staring. It unsettled everyone. Everyone unsettled Gerard. It was a mutual dislike. 

“So what are you, a newbie? Or just not usually here this early?” An agent asked. He looked young for an agent, shaggy brown hair, a nose ring. Apparently old enough to be an agent. Last name Wood. 

“I’m...a consultant. Ray asked me to come in.”   
  


“Toro? He’s cool. You aren’t an agent, though?” Another ‘kid’ asked. This one had obviously bleach blonde hair, not naturally blonde by any means. They really let anyone work here, apparently. Including Gerard. Hm. 

  
  


“Nope. Didn’t pass psych eval and-”

“Woah, are you unstable?” The blonde asked. Gerard cringed. The brunette went back to swabbing the wounds penetrating Elise. He seemed to have caught something, and dropped it into the bag, holding it up to the light.

“No, no. And not interested in returning to the field. This is a one-time thing.”

A third young man, who seemed to fit right in with these two, held up something in tweezers. 

“Is this...antler velvet?” 

Gerard peeked at their names. Knight- The blonde, Wood- the third brunette and Wingington- the second brunette. Wood had asked about the antler velvet. 

“Let me see-” Wingington weasled his way over, looking close, squinting just a it. “Yeah, actually. My dad used to mount deer and such- This shit would be all over the place in his shop.”

“Mount?” Gerard paused, blinking at the three. “She was mounted. On a deer head. Like a display.” 

Elise struck a pose, and Gerard watched in horror. She was hanging, hanging from a display. Elise had been violated- Not physically, but violated by reputation, removed from what she should be and tossed on a display. It was absolutely disgusting. Horrific. She’d been removed from her purpose and used as a chew toy. Blood poured out of her wounds, and Gerard’s eyes squeezed shut in horror.

Knight gently tapped Gerard on the shoulder, and Gerard swatted his hand away blindly. He missed by a mile- His eyes were closed, anyway. 

“Kni-”

“My name is Awsten-”

“Okay,  _ Awsten _ , please don’t touch me.”

“I was calling your name for, like, four minutes.”

“Oh.”

“Are you okay?” Awsten asked, and the other two of the duck triplet squabbled between themselves. 

“Yes, yes. I’m fine. Just...Analyzing things.”

“With your eyes closed?”

“With my eyes closed.”

“Gotcha!” Wington yelled, and Wood smacked him on the shoulder. 

“Jesus christ…” Wood mumbled. 

“No, I really did- Metal shavings. In the wounds.” Gerard made his way over to look, and sure enough, there were. He counted three, all by a ¼” drill bit. They were precise, symmetrical. Exactly the same. 

“We’re looking for a construction worker. One who likes hunting. He took a risk bringing Elise back, so he must know it is almost over. He must be close to what he’s looking for...The golden ticket. These girls all look the same, so he must have his eyes on the final prize. You’ll find him at a construction site, or having recently quit. Search everywhere for someone who might have quit today.”

Everyone stared at Gerard. Some had taken notes, one had gone for Ray, but they all stared. Gerard blinked both sets of eyes, but they only noticed one. They did not blink back. 

“How the hell…” 

  
“I said look. NOW.”

  
  
  
  



	3. 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm having way too much fun with this..........

Too many notes going through Gerard’s head. Her kidney had been removed, and put back in. He’d been left alone with the body. It had cancer growing inside of it, the kidney was rotting. A single hair was out of place on his head and dangling by his eyebrow. She had been mounted and cut up like an animal. Like a deer. This man liked hunting. Gerard hated hunting. Gerard loved cats. This man loved deer. Gerard blinked, and nobody noticed. 

“What do you see?” Ray asked, and Gerard jumped just a bit. Too deep in thought for anyone to reach him. “What do you see that I  _ don’t _ see? That’s what I want to know.”

“He uses...gentle strokes. He’s kind. He put her on display as a thing of pride, not because he sees her as an object. He sees her as….an animal. I mean- We know he hunts, but he doesn’t appear to be an amateur. These antlers are perfectly sporadic and spaced. It would’ve been a beautiful deer, and I don’t doubt he chose it himself, if not killed it himself. He’s either a very skilled huntsman, or a bargain buyer who has an eye for design.”

“They don’t exactly sell deer heads at Good Will.” 

“No, they don’t. If he is truly a hunter, then he will have hunted before. How were the other girls… I need photos. I need to see them.”

Ray laid out the photos one by one. Gerard watched. Ray’s hands were calloused and worn, years of playing a guitar like a gun, or the other way around. He was a kind man- Gerard knew of this- but clearly much too kind. He’d been scarred by the world of crime, physically, and mentally quite clearly. His fingers twitched just a bit, a nervous little mannerism, and Gerard understood. They weren’t quite tics, like Gerard had, more like strain from trying to seem normal and “unworried”. It was these little things Gerard noticed and recognized in himself. 

Making an involuntary clicking noise and jerking his head to the side, he startled Ray, who just sort of stood back. The two had a strained relationship in that there was a lot of fear of offending one another. At least it wasn’t strained from unpleasantness. 

Sweeping his hand over the pictures, Gerard opened his eyes, and took it all in. One stood out. Each was similar, and fit the picture, except for one. Each had so much...respect in them. The work of a man at his craft, a man who cared so much about his work, a man who killed these girls not for the sake of killing, but rather out of indirect love. The last one didn’t. None of the other girls had been found, actually, except for the one that stuck out. They all held such violence regardless. The rest were just the last time the girl had been seen. 

  
  


“This. Who’s this? She doesn’t fit.”

“What?” Ray moved over, and pulled his hair back into a tie, just to keep it out of his face. He looked sort of cute that way. Gerard knew not to think that sort of way about a superior, though. Not that Ray was his type, anyway. Nobody was his type. Gerard wasn’t a romance sort of guy. 

“This girl. This isn’t the same killer.”

“How can you tell? They had the exact same scene- She was even mounted on a stag’s head.” 

“No, no. She’s been ruined here. Disgraced. She’s been murdered because she is a pig. Or at least no better than a pig to whoever did this. Anything missing from her?”

“The lungs…”

“Anything missing from the other girls?”

“The entire body. We haven’t found any of them.”

“Exactly. They’ve all been...honoured. This girl was wasted. Discarded. He did not do this. Someone else did. You’re looking for someone with the ability to mimic or assess things- Someone who can analyze and study. Someone who can get into the head of a man without letting them get in.”

Ray almost said ‘someone like you?’, but he thought better of it. You can never be too careful- But a meltdown from Gerard was the last thing he wanted to cause. Gerard already looked stressed.

  
  
  
  
  


“Please.” He cried out, hand reaching out into the empty air. Frank picked up the tissue box by his side and handed it over, Pete taking one and blowing his nose. Pete had been crying for twenty minutes of their hour long session, and Frank was contemplating breaking his promise. It got rather annoying at some point, Pete’s endless crying. Not that Frank didn’t care, but he didn’t care. Frank wasn’t the empathetic type by any means, and you could tell in the way his shoes were scuffed. 

Tapping a perfectly shined shoe, Frank gave his best smile. The person suit crinkled just a bit at the edges of the smile. Smiling was not for Frank. 

“Sorry...I’m so fucking neurotic. I hate it.” Pete apologized, and he adjusted his purple and black striped hoodie as a means of hiding in it. 

“If you weren’t ‘neurotic’, there’d be more to worry about. You have  _ empathy _ , Pete. That’s important. You care about other people, as well as yourself. If anything, I think this is the ‘preferred’ way to exist.” Frank replied, legs crossed at the thigh and eyes set gently on Pete. 

“I just...god. I get so fucking sad all the time for no fucking reason. I don’t know why.”

“You’ve been through a breakup, with someone who you thought was the love of your life. This is a perfectly reasonable response.” Frank had never experienced love. Romantic love, to be more precise. He’d loved his work, loved himself, loved God. He’d loved no human being, though. They were less to him, though, not worthy of love. Frank’s problem, of course, was being elite. Far too divine to partake in such things as humanic love. It disgusted him, in fact. Love was dirty. It was simply not his cup of tea. 

“But he told me it was my fault.”

“Well, wasn’t he the one who slept with someone else?”

“Yeah, but…”

“You made a promise with him- Not a legal or religious promise, but a promise nonetheless. He broke that promise. It’s okay to feel violated, angry, used, saddened...You’re allowed to feel, Pete, and what we also need to address is your habit of shifting the blame onto yourself.” Pete started to speak, but Frank cut him off. “Next session, of course. We’re already over time.” 

A man was waiting for the two at the exit, which made Frank scowl internally. He kept a calm face, though, simply walking Pete out. 

“I’m afraid I’m going to have to ask you to abstain from entering here,” Frank started, making eye contact with the man. “This is a private exit for for my patients alone.” The stranger had curls that lay in a distinct shape, covering most of his ears in similar colour to that of a teddy bear you remember from childhood and yet, you never had in the first place. Hands large enough to catch a softball. 

“Oh! Goodness, I am sorry. I’m Ray Toro, with the FBI.” Ray got out his badge and flashed it, and Pete looked bewildered. 

“You’re not here for me, right?” He asked, clearing his throat. A voice inside of Pete was taunting that pirating all those movies in tenth grade was a terrible idea. 

“Nope. Here for Doctor Iero, actually.”

“Please, just Frank is fine.” Frank turned to Pete and gave him a small smile. “I’ll see you at our next session. Take care, Pete.”

Pete left in a hurry, and Frank welcomed Ray in, a bit apprehensive. He didn’t let that show, not quite. Having a completely separate self was convenient in these times. 

“So, what can I help you with?” Frank asked. Ray was looking around, looking at Frank’s instruments, looking at Frank’s books. Ray was so invasive, it was rude indeed. Frank took note of this. See, ‘rudeness’ was unforgivable to Frank, and always noteworthy. He had files of all of this in his mind palace, who said what, who needed to be corrected sooner than others. 

“A lot, actually. You were recommended to me by Michael Way- He said you mentored him back in the day.”   
  


“Oh! Mikey, yes. Most psychology departments are filled with...an utter lack of personality. Or interesting people in general. Mikey is the exception.”

“Yeah, he’s a force to be reckoned with once you get him mad. Or drunk.” 

“Mikey is quite the character indeed. I’m assuming you’ve read my papers, if you’re here?”   
  


“Of course! The study of…” Ray struggled to remember. “Music in…”   
  


“The study of music in the minds of the damaged.”

“Yes! That, thank you. It was downright fascinating. You said you dabble in guitar, correct?”

Frank crossed his arms and chuckled, shaking his head. “If you call leading a punk band in high school ‘dabbling’. I’m still friends with all of them, actually. Those were the days… Unfortunately, being a psychiatrist and being a rockstar do not mesh.”

“I was in a band too- But being the head of the FBI also...does not mesh with being in a rock band. A little too much cocaine use from my peers for my liking.”

The two shared a laugh, shaking their heads. Ray’s curls bounced, and Frank kept an eye on that. Analyzing one’s movements is key. Ray was methodical, jittery, as if he’d randomized movements on a graph. Not even at all. Good to know. 

“But anyway,” Ray continued, the laughter dying. “I need your help on a case. Are you up for helping me make a psychological profile? This is unlike anything I’ve seen in a while, and my first call is...embarrassingly hard for me to follow. He also doesn’t have psychological know-how like you. I want to understand what kind of monster I’m looking for, you’ know?”

“Of course.” Frank nodded, smiling just enough so it wouldn’t seem odd. “All the best monsters are human, anyway.”


	4. 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> PLEASE READ!
> 
> Hi there everyone! I would like to clarify a few things before you read this chapter. Will Graham in NBC's Hannibal is autistic, or self-proclaimed in the beginning of the show. It is my personal take that he is indeed autistic, and I have since written Gerard as such, since he has assumed the role of Will in this story. I am not saying the real, live Gerard Way is autistic- However, as an autistic person myself, I am writing him as an autistic character to my own experience. Please don't comment things like "that's not how autism works" if you are not autistic, and understand that autism is different person to person. I am writing Gerard with my mannerisms, stims and behaviors for authenticity. Anything ableist will not be tolerated.

Trying to figure all this out was taking a toll on Gerard. Visibly. He looked weary, exhausted. The bags under his eyes looked like they could stretch for miles, and he hadn’t touched his painting since last week. It was obvious he was declining at a freefall- He’d even had a concerned student or two ask if he was alright. One offered him a brownie, but even that probably wouldn’t be able to make him relax. And accepting drugs from a student was a bad idea. 

This, of course, was how Ray walked into his office and found someone already there. A tall man, eyes set like the way glue stuck to your hands and lips like a hogtie. Mikey Way. Michael for long, but if you called him that, you were either his superior or in for it. 

“Ah. Hello, Mikey.”

“Cut the shit.” He replied plainly, arms crossed. Count Ray intimidated. They’d met before, and yet, Mikey still had the ability to strike fear into the heart of any man. And weird sexual tension. Maybe that last bit was just Ray. 

“Is this about-”

“Yeah, of course it’s about my brother.”

“Brother? I assumed you were...cousins. He just never mentioned you.”

“He never mentions anyone. He acts like he spawned all on his own. Love him to death, though.” Mikey narrowed his eyes, and Ray got the hint.

“Ah. This is about Gerard...”

“Of  _ course _ it’s about Gerard. Have you seen him lately?” Ray started to say ‘no’, but Mikey was like talking to a freight train. “He hasn’t touched his painting in a week. A WEEK. You  _ know  _ that’s one of his special interests, and there’s no way he’d just drop painting. This is because he is stressed. Overworked, overused. You need to take him out. He’s getting too close.”

“He’s saving lives, Mikey. I’m sorry, but I can’t do that. I can’t pull him out.”   
  


“Well you’re going to, that’s for damn sure.”

“Going to what?” Gerard stood in the doorway, awkward little shuffling he always did, shoulders slumped as usual and hands a knot/bow by his heart. 

“Take you home, Gee. You haven’t been by my place in a while- And you look like you’re going to fall over.” Mikey fussed, moving over to Gerard. He gently took Mikey’s hand that reached to brush his hair out of the way, giving Mikey a reassuring look, but lowering the hand with his hair still in his eyes. He liked it that way, whether or not it was convenient to Mikey. 

“I’m fine, I promise. Aren’t I supposed to be taking care of you, anyway?” Mikey snorted.

“Not like you could ever stop drawing to make me dinner.” Mikey just shook his head. Gerard cleared his throat.

“Well I, uh...I have a meeting right now, actually, but when it’s done, I’m happy to come over if you’ll have me.”

Mikey glared at Ray. Ray looked like he was briefly afraid for his life. 

“Sure, sure. I’ll be just outside, yeah?” Gerard reached over and ruffled Milkey’s hair, who just looked pissed. Gerard laughed, and it was enough to make anyone smile. 

“Yeah, yeah. I’ll be fine. Get outta’ here.”

Gerard sat down, crossing his legs at the knee as he always did. He folded his hands over the top knee, staring at Ray’s hands which moved from his side, to the desk, to on top of the desk as he sat. They shared a silence, a few little fidgets. Ray was waiting for someone. 

“Am I intruding?” A voice asked that Gerard had never heard before. Ray smiled warmly and ushered the voice-holder in with his hand, from his seat. 

“No, not at all, Doctor Iero.” The stranger sat at the seat across from Gerard, and the energy in the room changed immensely. Dropped. Freefalled. Made Gerard’s gut do a flip. This man looked like a whore in the best possible way, and a scholar in the worst possible way. Gerard wasn’t sure how to feel. 

“You must be Gerard Way. I am Frank Iero.” He held out a hand to shake, and Gerard neither took it or looked Frank in the eye. What’s new? “Not fond of eye contact, I see.”

“Nor handshakes, so you can put the hand down. Isn’t it rude to start off a relationship like this? Commenting on someone’s mannerisms?” Gerard shot back, narrowing his eyes at Frank’s nose as if it were his eyes. It was a good trick to imitate eye contact. Frank didn’t buy it.

“A relationship? You say that as if you intend to stare at my nose again.” Gerard’s cheeks went red and he looked away entirely. Ray, with a ring on his finger and a wife in his home, was confused, but cleared his throat in an attempt to bring things back on track. 

“I’ve asked Doctor Iero in to help me on this profile. It’s a new kind of crazy we’re trying to find.”

“Who’s profile, again?” Gerard shot a glare at Frank, and Frank just put both his hands up. The suit made him look overdressed. It was tacky and unsettling. “I feel like I’m the one being psychoanalyzed. You will  _ not _ like me when I’m psychoanalyzed.” 

“I wouldn’t dream of it. Unless, of course, you requested it. Or Ray did. Maybe someday soon.” Frank winked, and Gerard looked like he was going to pass out, an ugly mix of ugly purpley greys and heavy reddish pinks. 

“Doctor Iero, I need you to take a look at this file here- We have plenty of girls dead, all who look the same- One even mounted on a stag’s head,” Ray started, holding out the file. It was large enough that Frank had to use two hands. It made Gerard snicker just a bit. He’d bounced back, and Frank was staring him up and down. Whether this was flirting or a battle, Ray wasn’t sure of. He felt like the outside man on an intimate moment. Ray made a mental note to never make it just the three of them again, just in case. “They’ve all gone missing from colleges in nearby areas, which makes me think our suspect must be in the nearby area. Gerard said he was...looking for a golden ti-” The two were talking amongst themselves now, and Ray had hardly noticed. Sighing in frustration, the poor man just sat down, watching them interact. 

“So how exactly did you know who I am? Let me guess, Toro gave you a briefing on me? He seems to do that to everyone, which would explain the severe lack of...comments lately.”

“No. Surprisingly, I’m a psychiatrist, if you hadn’t put two and two together yet. You’re very much ‘the rage’ in the psychology community at the moment.”

“Wow, an attitude on this one. Aren’t therapists usually more mild-mannered?”

“Aren’t people with empathy disorders typically more passive?” 

“Undiagnosed.” Gerard mumbled, and looked away. 

“Well, feel free to stop by my office if you ever need a real diagnosis. And I really do apologize for my behavior.”

“I feel like there’s a but to this…” Gerard rolled his eyes, and Frank chuckled. 

“Isn’t there always?” 

“Unfortunately.” 

“GENTLEMAN.” Ray shouted, and Gerard cringed, instinctively covering his ears and scrunching his eyes closed. Ray sighed, pinching the skin between his eyebrows, and Frank just snorted.    
  


“Relax, Toro. I’m just…’psychoanalyzing’.”

“Uh uh, I’m done.” Gerard stood up, the chair skidding as he left it. He opened his eyes, uncovered his ears and flicked his hands in front of his chest in one fluid movement, an art he’d mastered in the days of traditional parents not understanding what overstimulation was. Gerard left the room, and Mikey caught him right outside, the two having a hushed conversation involving Gerard hitting himself in the head with the heel of his hand many times. Mikey was a grounding force for Gerard, especially in a setting where Gerard  _ couldn’t _ self-regulate like he needed to. He couldn’t whip out a sketchbook or some music or stim as he usually did in a place like this, which made things that much harder for Gerard in general.

“Did you have to do that?” Ray asked, and Frank cocked an eyebrow at him. 

“I did. I just wanted to see what I’m working with here. You said he’s never been diagnosed?” Frank talked like an electric guitar with spurs in the strings by some miracle. 

“Nope. Refuses therapy or formal diagnosis. Got too overwhelmed to pass the screening tests anyway, so I can’t officially have him as an agent.”

“Well right away, I can tell he’s neurodivergent.” Frank could smell it. He wondered what it tasted like too, secretly. “That isn’t a bad thing, though. What’s bad here is that he’s having a hard time balancing work and taking care of himself, which is common for autistic people. We need to help him regulate that if he’s going to be able to function in this environment.”

“We aren’t working on his case- For fuck’s sake, Doctor Iero.” Ray rolled his eyes. Frank just snorted, letting out a hearty laugh.

“You’re right, you’re right. It’s unprofessional of me. Is it possible I could take this file home? And persuade you to join me for dinner this evening?” Frank smiled like a knife in the gut of the one you loved most, and Ray, somehow, did not pick up on that whatsoever. 


End file.
